A Question of Character
by Sweet Lu
Summary: An exploration of Deeks' emotions during the final episode of the season and beyond as he tries to deal with Sam's lack of trust and what it might mean for his future at NCIS.


**A Question of Character**

...

His anger had simmered since this morning in OPS. He had covered it well, he thought, only making one short reflexive comment at the harshness of Sam's rebuke. He wondered if it had surprised anyone else. Now that he thought about it, everyone seemed to take it in stride, and that bothered him. Did they all agree with him? Everyone knew how concerned Sam was for Michelle, so he guessed that's why no one had defended him, but it was upsetting nonetheless. He had easily taken all of their teasing and taunts and snide comments for three years, doing what he always did, letting them roll off his back or responding with a joke of his own like the smart ass they all believed him to be. If he was being honest, he gave as good as he got, but this morning Sam's remark had been sharp and hostile, touching a nerve deep inside that hurt more than he wanted it to and that had caught him off guard. After what he'd been going through with Kensi, he was edgy and certainly not prepared for Sam's lack of trust, but the feeling that now dragged at him was something he hadn't felt since he was a kid, that feeling of not being good enough, a taunt his father had always berated him with, that sense of worthlessness he had fought against his entire life and thought he had overcome.

He stared down at the chess pieces laid out between them, trying to decide if he wanted to make the best of the situation and shake off his deepening anger, so he made a move, bantering a bit to lighten the mood. He gave it a try, but Sam was having none of it, his own anger at the situation still fresh and directed right at him. He could sense Sam's irritability growing by the minute and he felt something let go inside of him and he pushed aside his natural instinct to let it pass. He was tired of it all, tired of Sam's suddenly blatant animosity, tired of Kensi's refusal to admit she was jealous and actually cared about him, tired of being the brunt of everyone's jokes about his lack of training, just tired. All of it suddenly boiled over and he decided to be blunt with Sam and just ask him why. Why?

Sam didn't hesitate in answering, telling him exactly what he thought of him, pulling none of his punches, which was what each word felt like as they slammed into his ego. Sam was not just put out about having to partner with him, he made it plain he didn't like anything about him, questioning not just his abilities, but his character as well and that stunned him, shaking his confidence in his position on the team, because if this was how Sam really felt, which obviously it was, then maybe the others felt the same. Sam was the heart of the team. Everyone looked up to him. Hell, he admired him and had constantly strived to gain his approval, but now he realized it had all been for nothing and that "trust" that Sam was constantly preaching about, that sense of being part of a team, his speech about one for all and all for one, had been nothing but bullshit.

His gut clinched as he tried to calm the turmoil Sam's lack of respect was causing him. He failed at a joke about the three of them, before realizing that Michelle had heard everything and had made no comment. He felt isolated, unsure what he could do to change the feeling that he was losing everything he had thought secure. He could only do his job. It was all he had ever done and if that wasn't good enough, then maybe he didn't belong on this team. Maybe he should go back to being a cop with the LAPD.

That unbidden thought shocked him a little and his mind turned toward Kensi and their peculiar dance around their feelings for each other. Was he afraid to tell her how he actually felt? Would it scare her off to know that he loved her? Those thoughts had been with him for some time. He knew she'd been jealous of Monica, but she had steadfastly refused to acknowledge that, instead, accusing him of not saying what he meant, putting it all back on him. Maybe now was the time. Maybe she was right. He was getting tired of all their games and maybe she was too. What the hell would it matter anyway, if she felt the same way Sam did? Why the hell did she seem so angry at him all the time now? Why all the put-downs? Sam was angry he was his partner and she was angry about him not telling her about his undercover assignment and especially about what went on with Monica. Maybe it was time to lay it all out as Sam had just done. Maybe they couldn't remain partners if this was how their partnership would continue. If he actually made a move and it backfired, then he truly would lose everything and he wasn't sure he could live with that. He glanced at Sam and felt his heart harden just a bit. He would do his job and when this operation was over he would see what he was left with and then he shuddered at the thought that it might be nothing, nothing at all.

The next couple of days were sort of a blur and he was thankful for that. He had emptied his mind of all his questions and pushed his anger down deep inside, concentrating instead on doing what he'd been told to do, look out for his partner. Today that partner was Sam and he would do whatever it took to protect him, no matter what had happened earlier. He knew he was good at what he did. He took immense pride in being a good cop and he wasn't about to let someone down just because they'd had strong words with each other.

When he found himself doing surveillance with Kensi though, things rapidly changed. The tension between them was palpable and he felt his annoyance rising no matter how hard he tried to control it. He could feel her aggravation growing as well. Watching Michelle and Sam working their aliases with Siderov just added to the stress. The stakes were so high and personal concerns should have been insignificant considering the nuclear weapons they were trying to recover. However, the two of them couldn't seem to put away their personal problems and he chided himself briefly for that until they watched Michelle kiss Siderov. He knew Sam had a hard time dealing with her being undercover as one of Siderov's women, and he understood that, but Kensi's acknowledgement that she was just doing it to protect her cover almost made him laugh out loud.

Really? He was amazed how she refused to see the similarity between Michelle's actions and what he had done while undercover with Monica. Instead, she sniped at him as she'd been doing since that op and his euphemism about jealousy sent her storming off, ranting about never knowing what he was talking about, and in that instant something broke loose inside of him and he threw aside all of his usual caution and followed quickly behind her. He was tired of pretending, tired of the games and suddenly needed to show her exactly how he felt. He needed her to understand the depth of his feelings for her and he wasn't willing to hold back any longer. Not letting her finish her complaint, he took her face in his hands and let his passion ignite in one smoldering kiss, holding her close as they separated, watching her face, trying to judge her reaction. He saw her confusion and something more. He knew he had stunned her and he wasn't sure she had been ready for what he had just done. Emotion flooded through his body as he waited for her to say something, waiting for either another rebuke or for some positive sign that this was what she wanted, what she'd been waiting for. He got neither. She seemed overwhelmed and stuttered out something about Michelle before putting on her helmet and riding off, escaping from him and his act of physical communication. He stared after her, conflicted briefly, but not sorry for what he had just done. Not sorry at all. It had felt good. He loved her. She had to know that now, didn't she?

His heart was still racing when he resumed his surveillance of Sam and Siderov. Before he could even calm down, he saw Sam pistol whipped into the pool and without a second thought, he alerted Hetty that Sam was in trouble and that he was going in. Adrenalin rushed through him and a feeling of dread crushed down on him as he drove recklessly toward Siderov's compound. He knew he would be outnumbered, but it didn't matter. If Sam was killed on his watch, he would never be forgiven and he would never forgive himself. His partner was in trouble and that was all he needed to know. All the resentment was forgotten. This was Sam, a man he had worked so hard to find a connection with, a strong man unafraid of anything except seeing his wife in danger, a man, who despite his harsh words, he admired and still held out hope would someday want him as a friend.

Leaping the wall by the pool, fear shot through him as he saw Siderov, with a sick smile on his face, pushing Sam underwater and he suddenly became enraged. He willingly gave up his gun and yelled for the keys, only to watch them dropped into the water. Knowing there wasn't much time, he threw himself into the pool, hope still pulsing within him as he struggled to unlock the handcuffs. The relief he felt as he pulled Sam to the surface was replaced by a deep foreboding as he looked up into the disturbing smile of the Russian. He was surprised that Siderov's men helped get Sam out of the pool, but they did nothing but watch as he worked to resuscitate him, joking about his methods as he worked to save him.

"Come on, man, breathe," he whispered, softly encouraging his partner between breaths.

A deep fear continually coursed through him until Sam coughed up water and took in great gulps of air. He sat back then, running his hand shakily through his wet hair, trying to calm himself. He had no time to assess the situation as he was ordered to his feet at gunpoint by Siderov and then shoved forward as two men dragged Sam toward a waiting van.

"I know he's an agent," the Russian said. "So you must be his partner."

His mind quickly sought the best way to respond, so he used a little bit of the truth and gave his real name. When he told him he was a narcotics officer and didn't even know the man he had just saved, Siderov spun him around, smashing the gun across his face, knocking him to his knees. The second blow was a kick in the ribs by one of the men and he fought to catch his breath, but didn't get the chance as he was jerked back on his feet and pistol whipped again. Pain exploded through his head as the world darkened and strong hands pulled at him. His mind spun as he stumbled on his feet, trying not to fall as he was manhandled into the back of the van next to Sam. He wanted to say something, ask how he was, but Sam was facing away from him and appeared to be unconscious, worrying him even more. He finally heard him cough and with that he let the pain take him.

He came to when he was kicked out of the van and as he lay on the dirty floor of a dingy warehouse he began searching frantically for his partner. He sucked in a ragged breath when he saw them dragging him into a room and he knew their nightmare was just beginning. A man laughed softly behind him as he was pulled to his feet, the cold barrel of a gun jammed roughly under his right ear.

"Why do you guys love warehouses so much?" he managed to ask.

"This warehouse is special," the Russian replied. "It has a special room just for guys like you."

Sam was tied to a chair in the middle of the brilliantly lit room they pushed him through and he could see he had passed out. He instinctively reached for him, but his arm was grabbed and forced behind him as they shoved him into a dark room and slammed him into a chair, wasting no time tying him down. He resisted briefly, but a punch in the mouth silenced him. The taste of warm blood dripping from his mouth added to his anxiety, but that was quickly slipping into fear as he looked around the room. He didn't like anything he saw and tried to control the panic that was slowly gathering in the pit of his stomach. Torture. The word filled his mind and he swallowed hard, trying to steel himself for what was coming. When they left him, he could feel himself quiver and began to silently talk to himself, trying to convince himself that he could endure whatever they did to him. Then he saw Siderov and the man he called Mikhail enter the bright room and surround Sam and he held his breath so he wouldn't miss what was said. He heard the question Siderov wanted answered and his stomach knotted, knowing that Sam would never give up Michelle. He was one of the toughest men he knew and he loved his wife. He would protect her, even if it cost him his life. He understood now. It was the way he'd felt when Kensi was sent off to Iran with Callen. Even though he knew Callen would protect her, he was afraid to let her out of his sight because he loved her and he wanted her fate to be in his hands and no one else's, because he would give his life for her, just as Sam would do for Michelle.

His stomach turned over when he saw Sam go rigid. Sonofabitch! They were electrocuting him. How do you endure that kind of pain? How do you survive that? He felt all of the energy leave his body as he watched Sam take jolt after jolt until he could barely speak, but still managing to tell Siderov that Michelle wasn't an agent. Then he heard the words he'd been dreading.

"Let's start on the other one," Siderov said. "He's the weak one."

He was scared and angry at the same time. Why did everyone think he was weak? It was pissing him off. Then his eyes locked with Sam's and he could feel his fear from across the room. Sam had questioned his character and now he was the only one standing between Michelle and death. Sam shook his head over and over as the Russians stood over him and he knew he was pleading with him not to give her up. How could he let him know he wouldn't when he wasn't sure himself? Was he as weak as his father had always told him he was? Could he take whatever they did to him and not break? He was suddenly very tired and fear almost choked him, as he looked at the device in Mikhail's rough hands. Shit! He tried to make a joke about it, but the only one smiling was Mikhail. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Siderov however was very serious as his hands came to rest on his shoulders and he tensed at his touch.

"Is it safe to sell the bombs or are there other undercover agents?" he asked.

He lied, even though he knew they wouldn't believe him and kept lying until Siderov grabbed his head and held it steady as Mikhail forced his mouth open with the metal device he'd been holding. He couldn't stop himself from crying out as he panted through the chills and abject fear that exploded throughout his body and heard the question that meant everything to Sam.

"Is Quinn an undercover agent?"

He stared back at Sam and could see the doubt on his face, the fear that he would fail to stay strong. His anger flared at that and he became more determined not to give in. As the Russian moved toward him with a drill in his hand he knew he would be tested as never before. He recoiled from the hated thing, but couldn't escape and the pain came in waves, so much worse than he thought possible and his ears echoed with his own screams as he struggled to endure what they were doing to him. Blood filled his mouth and throat as his muscles quivered and he slowly lost the ability to think. He just wanted it to end, but it went on and on until his mind filled with suffocating fog and everything became hazy with the blinding pain.

His head dropped to his chest when Siderov released him, his mouth hanging open, letting warm blood drip down the front of his white tee shirt, staining it and saturating his jacket. The relief didn't last long as his head was pulled back sharply and he gagged on the blood still flowing out of the open wounds in his mouth. Then the question came again and so did the pain when he shook his head. He didn't know how many times he was asked or how many times he endured the drill, but he didn't break. Finally, Siderov came and stood in front of him and he knew something different was coming. The Russian pulled a chair up and sat down, smirking as he lifted his chin, forcing him to look at him.

"I'm impressed. You're stronger than you look," he said with a smile. "But Mikhail has been doing this a long time, and he has many other techniques to make you tell me what I want to know."

The Russian slapped him hard in frustration, sending sparkling shards of pain through his head and jaw before he stood and walked away. Mikhail sat down in front of him and smiled as he took one of his fingers in his hand, slowly stroking it as he watched him. The twist was quick and his finger broke, sending a new kind of pain shooting up his arm and into his chest. He shouted as the violence of it shocked him and he drew in his breath as he tried to deal with it, swallowing blood and gagging as he felt Mikhail calmly begin stroking his middle finger, still smiling. He was suddenly filled with rage as he watched the man slowly bend his finger back until it broke. He screamed this time and began to pant to control the chills racking his body, now slick with sweat. When his third finger was dislocated and then snapped, he searched his mind frantically for some way to stop the mind numbing pain. Then he gasped as Siderov grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

"Is Quinn an agent?"

Siderov clamped his jaw in his hand and squeezed, the intense pain almost causing him to pass out. He somehow remembered the man's very first question about another agent. He hadn't said Quinn's name that time and his mind locked onto that as his way out.

"I don't...I don't know her name," he stammered.

"Then describe her," Siderov said, moving around to face him, pulling his face close.

"The blond one," he whispered.

Siderov backhanded him across the mouth and his head swam violently until he slowly passed out. Another broken finger woke him and he screamed.

"You're lying," Siderov said angrily.

"She's Interpol," he said through bloody lips as Siderov held his face, sending shooting pains through his broken jaw.

"Not possible," Siderov said almost to himself. "I hand picked her."

He was barely staying conscious as the Russian gripped his jaw, but he saw a slow smile begin to spread across the man's face and he knew that his lie had worked. Siderov shoved him away and stood up, quickly pushing open the glass doors separating him from Sam. He struggled to stay conscious, needing to see Sam's face when Siderov let him know that Michelle was safe.

"Quinn? Watch your back," Siderov spoke into his cell phone as he stood over Sam. "Maya, the blond, is an Interpol agent."

The Russian paused as a question was asked and he laughed.

"David's an agent and I know because Janvier told me," Siderov said. "I thought you were too, until his partner broke and gave up Maya."

He saw Sam's eyes widen briefly as he stared back at him before he nodded slightly and managed to angrily stammer out, "You should have held out, you bastard."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, completing the lie they both knew put Michelle in the clear.

"I told you he was weak," Siderov said to Sam with a smirk, before continuing his conversation.

"I will save David for you to deal with, Quinn," he said. "But, we will take care of his partner."

The Russian closed his phone and looked back at him and then at Mikhail.

"No!" he heard Sam yell and he knew he would never kiss Kensi again.

Mikhail gripped his shoulder and smiled as he rammed a knife between his ribs. He suddenly couldn't breathe and his body shuddered as white-hot pain exploded in his chest. It was over so quickly, his ordeal, his short life, and his future with Kensi. All gone in an instant. He looked at Sam one last time as tears clouded his eyes, blurring the image of Sam shouting his name as the darkness came.

...

...

"You promised."

Someone cried out, but it sounded so far away and so angry he didn't respond, although the voice sounded familiar. He felt so tired as someone lifted him, making him feel as if he were floating. Then he smelled her scent and he forced his eyes open, feeling excruciating pain as she pulled his face against her breast, holding him tightly against her causing him to suddenly coughed up blood.

"Sorry," he said weakly and then sank back into the dark.

...

...

Voices floated around him as he tried to breathe, but the pain was too great, washing over him as he was lifted and laid down on something cold and hard. Someone tried to open his mouth and he heard himself scream before a pinprick sent him back into the dark.

...

...

"No!"

That's what his brain wanted him to say, but nothing came out. He had opened his eyes in a white room and he knew that meant they were going to electrocute him like they had Sam and that scared the shit out of him. He turned his head to look for Sam, but saw only blurry images of people moving toward him and he panicked. He tried to push them away, to curse them as anger filled him, but he was too weak and he waited for more pain. All he felt was a rush of warmth through his arm and then he was floating and the pain was gone. He waited until his heart slowed down and then opened his eyes as the room dimmed. Then he saw her and knew he was dreaming. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back once again into the comfort of the darkness.

...

...

"Don't be so stubborn. Please Deeks. Wake up."

"He needs his rest, Miss Blye. Let him be."

"Kensi. Give the guy a break."

"It's been almost four days, Callen."

He watched the three people argue, wishing he could speak, but for some reason something was preventing him from doing that. No one looked his way, so he just enjoyed the show as Kensi came close to punching Callen and Hetty had to physically come between them. He wished he could laugh, because he knew this wasn't a dream. He was alive.

"Mr. Deeks?" Hetty smiled at him as she noticed him watching and he nodded.

Kensi's face crumpled into tears and she reached out and gently touched his hair as her other hand came to rest on his arm.

"Deeks," she said softly.

He was surprised at her tears, but felt his own slipping down his cheeks and he turned away from them, embarrassed by his uncontrollable display. He felt a strong hand grip his knee and he turned to look up at Callen. When he saw the emotion on his face and his reddened eyes a sense of panic began to build. The only time he'd ever seen Callen this affected was if something bad happened to Sam or Hetty and he suddenly wanted to rip the tube out of his throat and ask if Sam was alive. As he struggled to push himself up on the bed, the others became agitated by his panicky actions and physically restrained him, holding him down as they yelled for nurses. Something was wrong. He must have failed to keep Sam safe and he suddenly went limp, his mind full of dread and regret. A nurse injected his IV and he turned away from their stares and let himself drift.

"Are you okay?" Kensi asked.

"He can't answer you, Kens," Callen said roughly.

Hetty's hand slowly tugged at his shoulder and he turned to solemnly look at her, his eyes blinking slowly. She was holding up a note pad and then handed him a pen.

"What do you want to know, Mr. Deeks?" she asked kindly.

If he weren't intubated, he would have kissed her. She held the pad as he wrote Sam's name and a question mark, tears filling his eyes as he waited to find out the fate of his partner.

"Sam's good," Callen quickly said. "Not great, but he won't be down for long. He's been asking about you."

He didn't respond, he just nodded and closed his eyes, letting the comforting words follow him back into the dark.

...

...

Finally breathing on his own felt like such freedom, he wanted to laugh. He turned away from his visitors, Kensi and Callen and his mind flitted back to the day he had been assigned to watch over Sam. The feeling of rejection was still there and he had to deal with that, but first he needed to get home and back to doing normal things. Nothing seemed normal right now. Everyone seemed to be acting weird around him. Kensi was nothing but sweetness and light and that wasn't like her at all. Callen kept staring at him, his jaw repeatedly clinching and his face in turmoil and it confused him. There was something they weren't telling him. A flash of fear shot through him, realizing he hadn't asked about Michelle. Did Siderov kill her? Panic suddenly flushed through his body and all of the terror he had felt over what had happened to him coursed through his mind and he was unable to function. His vision dimmed as he started hyperventilating and his heart began to race. Then he heard himself screaming as he relived the terror, bringing nurses and doctors to his side and the rush of more drugs and then the blessed darkness.

...

...

The soft beeping of his heart monitor slowly woke him. The room was dimly lit, but he sensed a presence and became anxious.

"It's just me Mr. Deeks," Hetty said softly. "I sent the others home for now and it wasn't easy. They're very worried about you."

"Did I get Michelle killed, Hetty?" he mumbled out his question, flinching at how painful it was to speak.

"No, Mr. Deeks," she said, standing quickly and moving to his side. "No. Michelle is home with the kids. She's fine. You kept her from harm Mr. Deeks."

His muscles suddenly relaxed as his mind eased. He felt her hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes, searching her face for the reason. Her gesture touched him and he struggled with what he wanted to say next, knowing she wouldn't like it.

"I can't stay, Hetty," he began.

"It's too soon for you to be released, Mr. Deeks?" She looked confused as she studied him.

"I can't stay on the team," he said.

"Why ever would you say that, Mr. Deeks," she asked, clearly surprised by his comment.

"They don't trust me, Hetty," he said as he looked out into the dim room. "Especially Sam."

"Don't you think things might have changed since that day in the park?" she asked reasonably.

"You heard what he said?"

"Of course," she answered.

"He questioned my character, Hetty," he said, feeling his anger flare.

"He was afraid," she said softly.

He managed to laugh briefly at that, but it hurt too much so he stopped.

"The only thing he was afraid of was having me as a partner," he said harshly.

"Mr. Deeks, you saved his life and his wife's life," she said, clearly exasperated. "Don't you think that changes the game?"

He ignored her for a while, trying to formulate his thoughts, not only about Sam, but also about Kensi. She hadn't said anything about his kiss. Nothing. He had watched for any sign from her that what he did meant something to her, but all he saw on her face was false happiness. She'd been faking it since he woke up. He knew every one of her expressions and he knew what he was seeing was her trying to mask out her true feelings. He recognized she was putting up walls between them and it angered him and made him sure that they could never move beyond being partners. If this was how it would be between them, he had to leave. He couldn't pretend anymore. He didn't want to.

"This is about Kensi too, isn't it?" Hetty asked as she rested her hand on his arm.

"I'm in love with her, Hetty," he answered. "But you already knew that."

"Yes."

"It's not going to work," he said.

"Are you sure about that, Mr. Deeks?"

"Let me resign, Hetty," he said sadly. "Let me go back to being a cop. I'm good at it and your team will be better off without me. You can get someone who's actually been trained to do all this, someone Sam can respect and..."

"Do you think we will give you up that easily?" She sounded angry as she interrupted him. She was scary when she was angry, but he wasn't intimidated this time. He was tired of fighting for everyone's respect. He just wanted to recover, to put the last two weeks behind him and go on with his life, even if that meant being alone. He was used to that.

"I'm tired, Hetty," he whispered and turned his head away from her and closed his eyes.

...

...

He'd never had a coddled egg before, but it was easy on his mouth and it was the first semi-solid food he'd had in a couple of weeks. The weak tea was disgusting, but he counted his blessings he could eat at all. When the door slammed open, he jumped, spilling lukewarm tea down the front of his hospital gown.

"You're leaving?" Kensi stood in the doorway with her eyes flashing, her hands on her hips and he couldn't help but smile, which was exactly the wrong thing to do.

"What do you want from me?" he asked as he looked back down at the small plastic bowl with the remains of his breakfast.

"What do I want from you?" she asked.

"Still answering a question with a question," he murmured.

She walked slowly toward him, her eyes dark and quizzical, but also uncertain. He saw her lip quiver slightly and he became unsure of what to say to her. He saw her eyes suddenly water with tears as she came to stand beside his bed and she started to reach for his hand, but then hesitated.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Kens," he said. "It's over."

"What's over?"

"Our thing," he whispered, almost choking on the words.

"Why?"

"Are you really asking me that?" he said softly, hearing the hurt in his own voice. "I kissed you and got nothing back. I thought you felt the same, but now I know I was wrong. I can't be your partner, knowing that. I can't go back to the way things were."

"You're an idiot," she said softly.

"What? That's it? That's what you've been wanting to tell me all the times you visited me, that I'm an idiot?"

He was so angry he couldn't breathe and he heard his heart monitor start speeding up. One of the nurses poked her head in and saw the two of them and shook her head and closed the door.

"I couldn't breathe when I saw you tied to that chair," she said softly as tears suddenly filled her eyes. "You were covered in blood and..."

"Kens," he managed to say as he watched her struggle.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, wiping her tears. "Callen cut you free because I froze. Then you just slipped onto the floor and I pulled you into my arms and held you and I was so afraid that I asked Callen to check for your pulse. I couldn't stop crying when he told me you were alive. Then you opened your eyes and said you were sorry and I couldn't understand what you were sorry about."

He stared at her and felt his own tears start. Then he reached for her hand as she stood there trembling. It was wet with her tears and he didn't know what to say.

"Please don't leave me, Deeks," she pleaded as she looked down at their hands. "Please."

"Kens?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," he said softly.

"I know," she whispered, reaching her hand out to stroke the hair back from his forehead.

He waited for more from her, but it didn't come and he felt his heart sink and he tried to pull his hand away from hers, but she wouldn't let him.

"I don't know what I'm feeling yet," she said gently as she stroked his hand. "But give me a chance to find out, okay? Don't leave, please. I care about you and seeing you here these last couple of weeks has been so hard. I've tried to be brave and strong for you, but I can't bear seeing you in pain and I don't know if that means I love you or not, but I at least deserve a chance to find out, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do," he answered simply and looked up to see her smiling, her cheeks wet with tears.

"Then you'll stay?" she asked.

"I didn't say that," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

He saw the hurt his words caused her and rushed to explain.

"I don't think I can work with Sam anymore, Kens," he said, unable to keep his own hurt from coloring his voice." He doesn't trust me and never has. The way Callen has been looking at me since I've been awake makes me think he feels the same way."

"No Deeks, you're wrong about Callen," she said seriously. "He's so grateful to you for saving Sam's life that he doesn't know what to say to you. He's in agony that he trusted Janvier. He blames himself for what happened to you and Sam and he's having a hard time dealing with that. He told Hetty he wasn't surprised you didn't want to work with him anymore. He doesn't blame you for wanting off his team."

"Seriously?" Deeks was shocked and became silent as he tried to digest what he'd heard.

Callen didn't let people get too close to him, except for Sam and Hetty. He was a professional, the best he'd ever worked with, but still someone who kept you at arm's length. He never doubted the man's instincts during a case and Callen had always treated him fairly, but dispassionately. Callen had never engaged him in personal conversations and had seemed totally indifferent towards him. That Callen was so emotional over what had happened and was blaming himself, kind of stunned him and he felt as if he needed to assure him that he held no animosity towards him. Sam was a different story and he couldn't stop the anger from rising once again.

"I'm not leaving because of what happened to me Kens," he said softly. "I'm leaving because over the past three years I believed I had earned respect from all of you. But, that's not true and Sam made that very clear to me a couple of days before we were taken. Why do you think he didn't want me to baby sit, as silly as that now sounds. He doesn't think I'm a good person, Kens. How can I work with him, knowing that? Everything he said about being part of a team was all bullshit when it came to me."

"He's been asking about you," she said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, Kens, and I definitely don't want to talk to him," he said sadly. "I'm tired. I need to get some rest so I can get out of here and get back to doing what I do best, being a cop."

With that he pushed the rolling tray table away from him and put his head back on the pillow and waited for her to leave. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but he was being honest, just like Sam had been with him.

...

...

The nurse had just helped him into a chair next to his bed when the door opened a crack. He turned too quickly to see who it was and a stab of pain almost took his breath away. He panted as he worked to control his body's reaction, holding tightly to the nurse's hand as she helped him ride it out.

"You okay?" Michelle Hanna asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered as the nurse patted him lightly on the back and left him alone with Sam's wife.

"Then why won't you look at me?" she asked with a soft laugh. "Not who you wanted to see?"

"No, yeah, sorry. I just need to catch my breath," he said nervously as she pulled up a plastic chair in front of him. "What can I do for you?"

"You already did everything for me, Marty Deeks," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

She took his good hand in hers and gripped it tightly and he was surprised at how strong she was, even though he knew he shouldn't be. She leaned toward him then, staring into his eyes without a word until her face softened and her eyes shimmered with barely held tears.

"Thank you," she said, her voice shaky and so unlike her. "For me and for Sam and for my children."

He nodded, unable to respond, but managing a brief, embarrassed smile.

"But I need one more sacrifice from you," she said.

He pulled free of her hands and leaned back, wary and a little unsure of what more she could possibly want from him.

"I need you to go talk to Sam," she said, her voice firm and strong.

"I don't think I can do that," he said, breaking her gaze.

"Sam's a strong man, but you know that," she said. "His code of ethics is strict and he doesn't cut anyone any slack when it comes to personal integrity, and I know you know that as well. I heard what he said to you that day in the park and I should have called him on it, but I didn't and I'm sorry for that. We both know he was wrong. I don't know you very well, Marty and I'm pretty sure Sam has been thinking the same thing for awhile now, but the thing is, he doesn't know how to tell you that."

"Are you telling me Sam's afraid to face me?" He laughed out loud for the first time in weeks.

"That funny, huh?" Michelle said with a sad smile.

"No way. Sam's not afraid of anybody, especially me," he said.

"Will you go see him?" she asked. "You two need to make things right between you."

"It doesn't matter," he answered. "I'm going back to LAPD. He won't have to face me or work with me again."

"You realize how childish that sounds, don't you?" she said. "Both of you are too damn stubborn for your own good."

She stood up, looming over him the way Sam sometimes did when he was angry.

"He knows he was wrong about you, Marty. You proved that," she said quietly. "So, I'm gonna ask once more. Will you please go see him?"

"No," he said, looking her in the eye and seeing the resignation he had left her with.

"Men," she said as she headed for the door.

"You sound like Kensi," he threw back at her.

She stopped and turned to look at him, her face unreadable now, her features softening as she slowly walked back toward him.

"She's in love with you, Marty, in case you're too dense to see it," she said with sly grin.

"You should tell her that," he said with a crooked smile. "Just the part about being in love with me. She already thinks I'm dense."

"Work it out with Sam, Marty," she said. "I'd like to get to know you. Besides, we always need sitters for date night and my kids like you. They think you're funny."

"Sam Hanna goes on date nights?" he laughed.

"Oh, I've got a lot of little tidbits about Sam I could share," she said with a smirk. "Of course, you'd have to be around to hear them."

"Sam didn't stand a chance when he met you, did he?" he said, shaking his head as the smile slowly left his face.

"I wish you were as easy," she said. "I'll make sure he comes by to see you, if that's okay with you."

He nodded and she nodded back before turning and leaving him alone.

...

...

His first nightmare struck just after midnight, which seemed appropriate when the nurses told him about it. They had been coming regularly over the past three days and he didn't understand why. Why now after all this time? He was scheduled to be released in two days and it scared him, because he would be alone to fight through them. He hadn't told Kensi about them and made the nurses promise not to tell her, which got him a few lectures that he dutifully listened to. He needed to do this on his own, knowing it was important that he overcome the fear he still felt occasionally whenever someone he didn't know came into his room. The night nurse had shaken him awake and had given him some anti-anxiety medicine to try and get his heart rate down and help him sleep.

When the second nightmare woke him, it morphed into a full fledged panic attack, sending him over the edge into flashbacks and causing him to rip out his IV and tear the monitors off his chest. He slid off the bed, panting with fear as the male nurse on duty tried to stop him. He hit the man as hard as he could, sending ribbons of pain down his side. He finally ended up on the floor in the corner screaming for all of them to stay away from him.

The roaring in his ears and the pain crackling through his head had him pounding on his forehead with the cast on his left hand. He felt someone kneeling down next to him and wildly threw a punch, but he missed and then he felt someone's hands grab his forearms and pull them down into his lap and hold him still.

"Don't. Please. No more, man, no more," he was pleading and crying and he hated himself for his weakness.

"It's okay, Deeks," Sam said quietly. "It's over."

"Sam?" He looked up at the big man in front of him and he flashed back to the pool. "I couldn't stop them Sam. I tried, but they made me give up my gun. I'm sorry I let you down, Sam. I didn't do my job and..."

He hadn't realized that was how he felt until he heard the words pour out of his mouth.

"Shut up, Deeks," Sam said gently as he sat down next to him on the floor. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Just take some deep breaths. I'm here and they can't hurt us anymore."

The male nurse, a big man with slicked back hair moved toward him and grabbed onto his arm, trying to get him up off the floor and sending him back into a panic. He tried to fight him but his breathing became ragged and he slumped against the wall. Sam was suddenly on his feet and he was stunned to see Sam put both hands on the nurse's chest and violently shoved him back.

"Leave him alone," he shouted. "Just leave him the hell alone."

The big nurse stood uncertainly in the doorway until finally nodding as the night nurse pulled him away and closed the door. Sam came and sat back down again and he slowly started to catch his breath, feeling comforted by Sam's strong presence next to him.

"You did do your job, Deeks," he said softly. "And you didn't let me down. I don't want you thinking that. You hear me? You saved me and my family after I was an ass to you. You were brave and tough and smart in there and I owe you, man. I owe you."

He pulled himself into the corner, trying to gather himself and ride out the flashbacks. He sat shivering there until he felt Sam get up. He thought he was leaving until he felt a warm blanket draped over him and Sam's strong hand on the back of his neck.

"You're gonna be okay, Deeks," he said quietly. "We'll get through this."

"I was scared, Sam," he whispered.

"Me too," he answered.

"Good to know," he said, sitting up a little straighter.

"Don't tell Callen," Sam said with a smirk.

"He blames himself."

"I know," Sam said softly as he rubbed his hands over his face. "He thinks it's his fault you're leaving, but it isn't is it? It's mine."

"You don't respect me, Sam," he answered. "So I can't trust you, any more than you trust me."

"You proved me wrong about your character, Deeks," Sam said. "This team is better with you on it."

"More bullshit, man," he said, flashing a crooked smile as he shook his head.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sam asked angrily.

"It means you're talking out of your ass," his own anger surging as he answered.

Sam seemed to deflate at that, looking down at his hands, which slowly formed into fists, and he wondered if Sam was going to hit him.

"I've never been this wrong about somebody in my life, Deeks," he said quietly. "I honestly thought you would break down in there and I was scared to death it would cost Michelle her life. Hearing you scream like that...God Deeks, I don't know how you didn't break."

"I didn't break because I knew you thought I would," he said.

"Didn't want to give me the satisfaction, huh?" Sam said with a brief laugh.

"Something like that," he answered. "And I knew if I did your kids would lose their mother and I couldn't let that happen."

They stared at each other, and he felt some of his anger slip away, but was still unsure of what Sam thought of him.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam said. "I should never have said those things to you, especially in the middle of an op."

"Do you still believe what you said?" he asked.

"Some of it. You are different, Deeks," Sam said. "But, I will never doubt your character again. You're a good man, Deeks and I'd be honored to work with you if you decide to stay."

"I'm a good cop, Sam," he said. "It's who I am, but no one respects that."

"Deeks..."

"Let me finish," he said, pushing his back up against the opposite wall so he could face Sam. "I'm not a by-the-book guy, Sam. I never was. It's why I'm a good undercover. But, I believe in the law, Sam. I want to help people. It's why I became a cop and I may joke around during an op, but that doesn't mean I'm not serious about catching the bad guys. You never got that about me, but I don't think you tried too hard either."

"You're right, I didn't," Sam said.

He struggled to get to his feet and Sam helped him back into bed. He felt the awkwardness that stood between them and it surprised him to see the sadness on Sam's face as he looked at him.

"Has Monty learn any new tricks lately?" Sam suddenly asked.

"What? Yeah, when I have time to teach him one," he said, puzzled by the question. "Why do you ask?"

"How old is that dog?" Sam asked, smiling now.

"Not sure, but pretty old I guess," he answered, still confused by the shift in the conversation.

"So old dogs can learn new tricks, then?" Sam asked, his face wide with a smile.

"Some can, if they want to and have a decent trainer," he said, starting to realize what Sam was saying.

"You stay and I promise to be a good old dog and learn a few new tricks about how to work with a certain unconventional cop," Sam said. "Not saying it'll be easy, but I'll give it a try if you will."

"You sure about this?" he asked.

"I owe you, Deeks," Sam said quite seriously. "And a Marine always pays his debts."

"Okay, then."

...

...

_The End_


End file.
